


Morning in the Mountains - a Life of the Party AU One-shot

by maplemooh



Category: Life of the Party (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen, Pacific Northwest, Quiet morning contemplation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 20:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplemooh/pseuds/maplemooh
Summary: Renard, sitting outside on a cold morning at the local coffee place, blows over the top of his coffee as to not burn his tongue.He's got his gold-tinted glasses on, big knit scarf around his neck to keep him warm - he's not used to the wet, cold days in the Pacific Northwest - as he waits for his associates to show up. He's early - too early, really - so has decided to sit outside while he waits.





	Morning in the Mountains - a Life of the Party AU One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Inspired by thick-knit fingerless gloves and my adoration for Renard.
> 
> Props if you can figure out where this story takes place - it is a real place! More props if you can identify the coffee shop that he's at.

Renard settled into the resin wicker chair, gripping his almost-too-full paper coffee cup, and looked out into the overcast morning. He’d made the mistake of underdressing yesterday, and was determined to fend off the chill of the air, which was heavy with mist. 

This morning, he’d slid on his gold-tinted sunglasses, paired with a knitted wool scarf wrapped around his neck - he wasn’t yet used to the wet, cold mornings in the Pacific Northwest. He’d then thrown on his hoodie and leather jacket combo; pulling the hood around his face, letting just a few strands of messily-pulled back hair peek out. Around his hands and wrists were thickly-knitted fingerless gloves. His dark jeans ended in his black workboots, hastily tied.

He’d woken up early - too early, really - so had decided to leave their lodgings and explore the town they were staying in. It was a sleepy morning; if the town was a creature, it’s eyes would barely be a crack open. The sun mimicked this sentiment, barely peeking through clouds to create a warm glow in the sky over the two great mountains.

Steam curled and twisted, dancing in the air above the paper cup, as Renard blew over it gently. He took a moment to test it, gingerly putting his lips on the edge of the cup, for taste and heat. It was still a bit hot for his liking, so he placed it down on the wrought-metal table beside him, leaning back in the chair, while he waited for his associates and the town to rouse themselves.

He hadn’t yet spent any kind of appreciable time in this part of the continent. While he’d worked all over the world on assignments, mostly in Europe or the United States, this small slice of idyllic west-coast Canadian mountain town was like a breath of fresh air for him. Even in the early hours, most cities were bustling at this time. In this place, Renard was alone with his thoughts and his coffee cup, listening to the sounds of the nearby forest come alive.

From the small outdoor table when Renard sat, he could look upwards towards the mountain, and with a flick of his eyes, look across to where the village courtyard ended and the forest began. The sun was struggling to get through the thick, overcast clouds, though the warmth of its rays were still at work on the trees, as the dew from the earliest hours started to evaporate. Mist from the trees rose, wispy now, but thicker as Renard’s eyes traced from the bottom of the treeline to the spread across the mountainsides. 

The mountain itself was as if someone had sprinkled icing sugar on a dessert: the snow dusted the peak and the higher trees for now. It was early in the season, just the start of November, and the thick snow hadn’t yet fallen. The chill had almost brought the air to the point where the mist would rise, only to be deposited as snow on the mountains, but not quite yet.

It was chilly enough that Renard risked a burnt tongue for a mouthful of hot drink.

Recreational mountains always had this dichotomy: large, bare cuts of dirt, pathways winding down like veins, between thick wafts of evergreen trees. Renard always did his research before going out on assignment: this place was a mountain biker’s heaven in the summertime, folk taking their bikes up the gondolas and ripping through dirt and mud to get to the bottom. In wintertime, it became a snow sport hotspot: people travelling around the world to the various resorts to ski and snowboard on the mountains.

This town had not one, but two large mountains of this type.One was in front of him, the other was around the corner, and out of his sight range.

Wrapped around the base of the mountains, was the tiny village. It was surrounded by various resorts of varying qualities: to some that catered to celebrities, and some who catered to those who only wanted a bed to sleep in, since they spent every waking moment outside, in nature. The village itself was aesthetically pleasing, with wide paving-stone central walkways, carefully cultivated gardens, and generally set up to encourage people to stroll in.

There were a variety of shops here, some catering to the mountain bikers in summer, then switching to skis and snowboards for the winter, others who offered outdoor activities such as ATVs or heliskiing, or helicopter tours of the mountain peaks. Small drugstores were dotted between independent clothing and knick-knack stores: there were not a lot of big-name, big-box retailers here. Finally, every few feet, especially higher in the village, were eateries with large patios, with large selections of beers and ciders. It created an atmosphere of people who liked to not only play hard, but party hard as well.

Finally, there were smaller places, tucked in storefronts the size of a sliver, like the coffee shop Renard found himself sitting by, at the crack of dawn.

Renard was at the far end of this village, where there was a large grass courtyard and outdoor amphitheatre, and beyond that was forest. He was aware that there were trails; picturesque areas like a wooden bridge over a rushing river, where folk would stand to take their wedding photos, hiding within the lushness of the trees. 

They’d arrived in the evening the day previous, and time was spent settling in to their rooms - modest lodgings at a hotel tucked back from the village greens - and setting up their equipment. They’d be here a few weeks, by his estimation, to complete their assignment. There hadn’t been much time to explore, just to find sustenance and head back.

Renard adjusted his hood, pulling it more over his face, as a few sleepy tourists wandered the paving-stone laided walkways in front of him.

The coffee had cooled to an acceptable level: Renard held it in his knit-gloved hands, the warmth seeping through to his bare fingers first and gradually making its way to his palms. He savoured not only the flavour, but the warmth of it. The chill here, in this mountain terrain that was not particularly far in from the ocean, wasn’t just cold: there was a wet bite to it, something that could seep into your bones and take considerable effort to shake.

There was a reason this village had a lot of shops focused on outdoor wear, with thermal jackets and coats designed to keep the wet at bay.

The sun finally burnt through a thick layer of cloud, a kaleidoscope of yellows, oranges, and reds, glittering on the snow on the mountain peak. The mercenary gripped the warm cup between his hands, soaking in this quiet morning, the stunning sight of nature in front of him, and the songs of small birds from the forest beyond, mixed with the occasional rustle of wind through branches.

It was like the town had its morning stretch, and had groggily got out of bed and wanted its morning caffeine fix. The occasional person passing by had multiplied slightly as more people started appearing in the courtyard, coming in and out of the coffee shop, all gripping their warm to-go cups, small smiles and bright faces as they started their days.

It was Astra who broke Renard from his reverie, “Ah, that be a pretty sight, don’t you think, Renard?” 

The tiefling motioned to the mountains, which looked like they could be straight out of a painting in an art museum. 

A hint of a smile twitched on to Renard’s lips as he regarded his associate. Astra was perhaps the most unlikely person Renard could have recruited as a self-proclaimed pacificist, but had proven himself invaluably clever. For a profession that dealt mostly in violence, Astra had somehow creatively found a way to not have to raise a weapon, or fist, on any of their assignments. It was a niche that Renard did not quite fully comprehend the rules of, but he respected it.

“It’s a glorious morning, indeed,” Renard replied back, regarding the tiefling briefly.

Renard had never seen hair as lush as Astra’s was: even this early in the morning, it was braided back neatly, and out of Astra’s face. He was dressed simply: leather cord wrapped around his neck as a choker, a black puffer jacket, to which his hands were stuffed in the pockets for warmth, dark grey jeans and dark work boots, though Astra had done the laces up before leaving. More stunning was Astra’s bright emerald hair, muted teal skin, and the entirety of his eyes a deep, amber-orange.

Astra was quick to smile at the human, his small fans peeking out from between his lips, “I’ll get us some breakfast,” and slipped inside the shop before Renard could protest. His smile turned to a curled lip of annoyance; with an exhale he let the moment pass, turning his enjoyment back to his surroundings.

Now that the sun was breaking through, the mist hung more thickly, rising up through the air; it would burn off in the afternoon. There were only small patches of clarity in the air, with the green of great trees peeking through. It made everything look mythical and secretive, as one would imagine from a storybook.

There was a mystery for Renard to solve on that mountain, as idyllic as it looked.

A raven croaked in the distance, and Renard shuffled to a different sitting position as Astra bustled over to the chair beside him, laying out various sweet and savoury baked goods. Slowly the others started to trickle down to join them; first Elyse, then Boblem and Sariel, and finally Cassian, who was impeccably dressed and styled.

It was time for their work to begin.


End file.
